Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
SCARLETT
Is this really how it works?
On the run from a man threatening to kill you? Then, you slip into a small-town bachelor auction to bid on muscle?
It’s too late to second-guess myself. After all, it’s not like the authorities are stepping in to do anything.
I tell myself all I need is a weekend away from all of this. I look down, still clutching the Las Vegas Weekend Giveaway in my hand. I won it earlier with a handful of raffle tickets.
For a good cause—kittens and puppies. I couldn’t turn it down.
And the guy on stage? Either he’ll play along for room, board, and plane fare, or he’ll leave me like men always do.
But something about this guy, the quiet one, exudes a steadiness and security I’m hungry for. A wall of muscle who saves people’s lives for a living and isn’t afraid to sweat while doing it.
Like a bodyguard who knows how not to get burned.
He might be exactly what I need right now.
As for the five hundred dollars? I wasn’t quite counting on that. I look around, straining my eyes in the dim lights to make out the sign behind the decorated tables where Roxy’s selling raffle tickets. Yep, they take checks.
Thank goodness.
I met Roxy all of fifteen minutes ago. I’m not from Hollister or Rough & Ready Country, though the folks here seem to be nice. And I couldn’t think of a better charity to support.
Cedarville—my town—is only a little bigger. I was really starting to get settled. Feel good about the adjustments over the past year when I got word from the private investigator I hired six months ago that he was on the move, and I was no longer safe.
Nothing like Las Vegas for one last hurrah. Or a rugged fireman to keep me safe… just in case.
I still don’t know what I’ll do after that. Despite the new life, the new identity, maybe I can’t outrun my past after all.
God, I wish this would all just go away.
“I hope I’ll do,” a deep voice grumbles, startling me.
I turn, coming face to face with the firefighter I bid on.
“Oh.” It comes out on a puff of air.
He grimaces. “Not famous or anything.” He looks down.
“I know,” I chuckle. “The quiet one.”
His gaze levels on me. “You okay with that?”
“You’ll do,” I repeat. “You okay with this?” I ask, holding up the envelope containing the vacation package. “Forty-eight hours in Sin City… all expenses paid.”
His Adam’s apple works, eyes narrowing.
“I know it’s not rescuing cats from trees or whatever the auctioneer said you do for a living, but it sounds like you could use a break, anyway.”
The big man steps closer—still polite, still controlled—but close enough that I can feel the heat of him. Pine and spice. That’s what he smells like, and I have to tilt my head up to see him.
Quiet but not shy.
“You’re tall,” I say.
“Six foot five,” he answers, cocking his head. “You’re short.” He flashes a lazy lopsided grin.
And I already like him. That’s all it takes.
“By a foot, but not especially short for a woman.”
He nods once. His eyes are the kind of blue the sky turns before a thunderstorm. Or the color of the ocean in the winter—dark, mysterious.
His face is broad, angular. Sharp cheek bones.
Skin tanned, jaw sharp enough to cut glass.
A short, almost buzzed layer of dark blond hair crowns his head, and his neck is thick and muscular like his corded arms, each one easily as thick as one of my ample thighs beneath a fitted black T-shirt and Wranglers with boots and a buckle.
But it’s mouth that gets me. Kissable lips, too many possibilities. The tickets in my hand suddenly feel like they’re burning, just waiting for us to leave.
His eyes dip to my wrist—to the small angel and devil inked there—and linger just a second too long.
Like he’s trying to figure out which one I am.
“That new?” he asks quietly.
My pulse stutters, and my voice comes out breathy. “Something like that.”
I suddenly feel frumpy in torn skinny jeans and a pale pink sweatshirt with matching sneakers. But then again, I never counted on any of this.
“Do we need to head backstage?” I ask. “Get escorted out by security like the last couple?”
He shrugs. “Not famous like Hollywood. Nobody’ll care when I leave.”
“Good,” I say, smiling back. “I’m not a fan of paparazzi and screaming fans.”
The auctioneer’s booming voice fills the gymnasium all over again. Solitary cheers and claps rise. Another firefighter has taken the stage.
“Waldon,” he says, eyeing me hesitantly. “If you want to get a refund, bid on him instead, I get it.”
“Are you always this funny?” I say before realizing he means it.
His eyes sweep to the side, like he’s looking for an escape route.
“I prefer strong and silent, actually.”
“He’s strong, too,” the man offers.
I shake my head. “Nope, I bid on you. Name’s Scarlett, by the way, Scarlett Fuller, and they said you’re Phoenix?”
He clears his throat, eyeing me somberly. But his cheeks flush, and his indigo eyes darken, giving something away. I don’t know him well enough to know what it is yet, though. “Donovan Lane, but I go by Phoenix with the crew.”
“Phoenix. Like the place or the bird?”
His jaw tightens, a muscle flexing. “Both. I’m from Arizona originally… and I guess you could say, I’ve risen from the ashes more than once.” He rubs a hand over his buzzed head.
“Good,” I say, smiling thinning. “Because that’s exactly what I could use more of right now—rebirth energy.”
His eyes narrow, and his eyes drop to my mouth for just a second before he looks away again. “Rebirth? Like you need to let go of the past or something?”
“Exactly,” I say, voice guarded as I scrutinize his face again. Everything about him says I can trust him. I don’t know why. “And I need to do something fun for once. Live it up. Quit worrying about the consequences.”
“Vegas is good for that, I hear.”
“Guess we’ll find out,” I say. “And just so you know, I’m also looking for some temporary protection.” My eyes drop to one bicep. “Figured you’d fit the bill.”
He scowls. “Like a bodyguard?”
“A firefighter bodyguard.” I laugh.
“Didn’t need to pay five hundred dollars for that,” he says gruffly. “If you’re in trouble… I’m not walking away.”
He says it like he means it. I can’t breathe for a moment, and I have to search for my next words.
“You wouldn’t have said that five minutes ago,” I counter, cheeks flushing. “Consider the five hundred a finder’s fee.”
He shifts uneasily, crossing his arms. “I’m a cowboy, too. Hope you’re okay with that?”
His words surprise me, though I’ve lived in northern California long enough to be around my fair share.
“Like a whiskey shooting, tobacco chewing cowboy?” I ask, scrunching my nose.
He shakes his head. “More like open your door and dance in the parking lot to country tunes cowboy.”
“Oh.” What is it about this guy that has me making those little sounds?
“Figure that’s all a part of the Vegas experience, right?”
“Lucky us.” I grin. “You can get away for a few days, right?” I have to ask, show I’m remotely responsible. Okay, usually only responsible. I never cut loose like I’m thinking about tonight.
But who am I to turn down fate? Or whatever this is.
“My boss put me up to this. He’ll have to accept the consequences. So, when’s the flight, Miss Scarlett?”
I huff a laugh. “Don’t say it like that. You make me sound like I’m in Gone with the Wind.”
The corners of his mouth tip down slightly, like he’s concentrating on me. “Alright, then, just Scarlett.”
“It says here we can book anytime before the end of the year.”
“Tonight, then?” he asks, dark and grumbly.
“Wow, you don’t miss a beat.”
“Don’t know how this auction stuff works,” he says. “And besides, I’m usually working… though for you, I’d take some time off.”
He says the last part slow and velvety and my heart skips a beat. “Well, you’d have to,” I tease to take off the edge. “I bought you fair and square, and you owe me.”
“Another time then?” he says gruffly.
I look at him. At the steadiness. At the one thing in this room that doesn’t feel dangerous.
It’s what I crave right now. More than going back to Cedarville and pretending I’m safe. More than waiting for the next show to drop… or worse.
“Tonight,” I say. “If we can catch a flight.” My stomach tightens, not from nerves… from instinct. The kind that says run away… even if it’s only for a day or two. The kind I choose not to ignore, maybe for the first time in my life.
Because no one’s ever accused me of being spontaneous.
“I imagine we’ll have luck with a red eye. Though we won’t sleep much.”
“Sleep is overrated,” I tease.
“Am I driving us to the airport?” he asks. “While you work on those tickets?”
“Are you offering?” Sacramento’s a little over an hour away, the closest airport.
“That’s how that usually goes.”
“Well, okay, then. But can I ask a favor?”
“Anything,” he says, face serious, like he’s concentrating on every word I say.
“Could we swing by my place after yours so I can pack? Maybe you could follow me so I can leave my car at the house.”
“Done.”
I’m not used to men being so decisive or determined. “In that case, let me see what I can do about booking a flight.”